


Daisies

by holtcest



Series: Garden of Realization [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Colleen's POV, F/M, Holtcest, Incest, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 12:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15707196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtcest/pseuds/holtcest
Summary: Colleen Holt's children had always been close.





	Daisies

**Author's Note:**

> Got hit with a sudden burst of awful inspiration, so please take this.

Colleen Holt's children had always been close.

Even before Katie was born, Matt had been attached to the swell of her stomach, fascinated, enraptured. He knew Colleen was carrying a baby inside of her, that this was going to be a little sister for him to grow up with, and he'd been acting like this for the better part of her long pregnancy. They're laying on the couch when Colleen hits nine months, her feet propped up and swollen, Matt strewn across her legs with his head on her stomach. He rubs and pats it, blows a raspberry, presses his ear to the stretched-out skin and listens to the baby as she moves around and kicks at Colleen's rib cage. With every hard kick the infant sends her way, Matt's smoothing chubby fingers over her skin, calling out to her unborn daughter, asking her to be nice to her momma.

Colleen strokes his hair, tells him that it'll be okay, and turns on the television as a distraction for the both of them. But Matt keeps curling himself up against her stomach anyway, continuing his whisper-begging until the baby settles, breaths coming just slightly easier to Colleen now that tiny feet weren't wedged between the spaces of her ribs. Matt thanks her, and Colleen tells him he's been a good brother, even before the little tyke would truly know him. His smile was warm and sweet and she couldn't ask for a better behaved son.

From the moment Katie was born, and Matt held her in his small arms for the first time, the whole air in the room changed. Like something fascinating and new was snatching her son's attention and keeping it for itself; he was smiling so widely that it looked almost painful. He cooed and fawned over her, cradled this new life in his arms and whispered something Colleen could barely hear under his breath. At the time, it had been innocent enough; a fondness borne of the novelty of gaining a new sibling. But maybe that should have been something she kept and eye on after all.

"My Katie."

* * *

 

When her daughter turns five and her son is nine, she follows him everywhere, clinging to the hem of his shirts and holding onto his hands with tiny fingers. Anything Matt would do, Katie would do too, much to the joy of the older sibling. It was cute, the way he'd heft her up onto his shoulders, running her around the house imitating crude aircraft noises while she shrilled in delight. There are photos on the walls from years past, of Matt and Katie with sweets-sticky hands and cheeks, of the pair of them snuggled up on the couch during the holidays (asleep from waiting up for Santa Claus). Countless frames filled with the evidence of her children's attachments to one another. They hardly fought, and if they did, Matt would quickly give up and apologize to Katie for making her sad or angry.

Katie is coloring in the living room, papers strewn about the coffee table as she draws shaky pictures of her family. This one is a silly looking self portrait, and when Colleen asks what she's wearing in the picture, Katie tells her its a wedding dress. At five, this is cute; expected, even, as Katie had just started school and would potentially be making new friends and getting her first school-yard crush. But then she turns to grin up at her mother, two canine teeth missing, and says it with all the childish joy she could muster.

"I'm gonna marry Matt when we grow up!"

* * *

 

Weeks later, Colleen is watching them play in the yard, her two shining stars jumping and running and bouncing about, still close enough in age where they could have fun doing such things. Their laughter fills the hot summer air as Colleen makes lunch, and she distantly thinks of how much she'll miss these early years of their lives as they get older. The next time she looks up, they're play fighting, swinging pretend light sabers around in the air (complete with sound effects) and staging Katie's dramatic death.

Katie pretends to be mortally wounded, slumping to the ground where Matt catches her in his arms, and he makes a good show of wailing and crying for her as she cups his face. Colleen laughs under her breath, setting the table for lunch and glancing back outside for a moment to see Matt gently kissing Katie's cheeks, as if it'll revive her from her fake 'death'. Calling them in for lunch, they bound up and inside, kicking off dusty boots and sitting in their respective chairs while Colleen serves them. Katie asks something that Matt laughs and agrees to, and if it was any other question Colleen could have ignored it.

"Can we have daisies at our wedding, Matt?"

* * *

 

Days had turned to years before Colleen knew it; Katie is almost thirteen when Colleen walks into the living room to see her kids snuggled up on the couch while Matt's talking about space travel. There are some textbooks on the floor and end table where they've likely gone through a few already (her children are too smart for their own goods), and she smiles when the pair of them greet her. He's got one arm slung around Katie's middle, the other holding up the heavy book while her daughter's hands are settled over his wrist. It makes her a little uncomfortable that they're both still so touchy with each other; she thought they'd long outgrow the practice, especially as Matt got older.

But he'd still been just as attached to his little sister as the day she was born, and the opposite wasn't very appealing to Colleen either; she certainly preferred a little strange closeness over constantly bickering and fighting kids. And yet, when Colleen offhandedly mentioned Matt getting a girlfriend (prom season was approaching), Katie's look turned gloomy and dark, and Colleen can feel the air under the table swish as her daughter kicks her foot over to where Matt was across the table. He sheepishly smiles and dismisses her worries, tells her that he's more committed to his schoolwork and scholarships than getting a date, and Katie brightens considerably. They finish eating and talking as if it hadn't happened, but when Katie is helping her do the dishes, she has to say something.

Colleen tries to be gentle with Katie no matter the topic-- her daughter had no friends outside the family and was antisocial to a fault, so she wanted to take everything into consideration when she spoke with her. But when she mentions that she's a bit old to still be clinging to her brother like a lifeline, Katie goes quiet and shy, drying plates and putting them away without so much as a word. Colleen follows this up with telling her it's fine to be friends with Matt, but that she wants to see Katie blossom and grow into a fine young lady with more than just her brother for company. Her daughter nods, but quickly finishes up her chore and excuses herself. Before she slips out the door and up the stairs, Colleen hears her mutter to the room sadly.

"I just love him, is all."

* * *

 

Colleen knew that Katie used to run to Matt's room when she had nightmares as a young girl. Like many other things that have been proven wrong to Colleen, she had thought Katie had outgrown this practice a few years ago. But one night, as she's walking back from the bathroom, she sees her daughter's open door (empty, air conditioner off) and hears soft whispers from Matt's room. With a gentle sigh, she considers asking Katie to go back to her room and just let her brother _sleep_ , but she lingers outside her son's door instead for a few moments, contemplating her options.

Their whispers are so hushed they were more like wisps of breath, but she can hear what sounds like gentle cries from her daughter's mouth the longer she stands there. Maybe it was a really _awful_ nightmare-- Colleen concedes to talking about the situation with Matt and Katie in the morning. As she's walking back to her room, she thinks maybe the floorboards might need replacing; there was such a strange, rhythmic creak that worried her as she settled back into her shared bed.

The next morning, after Sam has gone to work and her kids set up in the living room to play video games, she sits on the couch and addresses them directly. Colleen doesn't think she's asking much when she brings up that Katie should stick to her own bed and Matt needing to be more assertive about how he needs to sleep, and they both look ashamed. Not unexpected, exactly, but the emotion twisted her children's faces a _little_ strangely and she couldn't help but wonder about that creaky floor upstairs again. Both of them nod to her, promising to be better, and she grins and pushes that uneasy feeling aside.

"I won't sleep in Matt's room anymore."

* * *

 

Two years later, when Sam and Matt are off on the Kerberos mission and she's up late in the living room watching the news, she can hear her daughter pause on her way down the stairs. Shots of the Kerberos takeoff are playing with a solemn voiceover speaking about the missing astronauts that were aboard it, and Colleen feels her throat close as she shakes with unshed tears. Her palm covers her lips to stifle any broken noises she makes as her shoulders shake, but she can hear the hitch in her daughter's breath when the report continues on, not that Colleen can really hear it now. Especially not over the absolutely heartbroken noise she hears Katie make behind her; not as she hears thundering footsteps as the young girl retreats up the staircase, slamming a door shut.

Not when Colleen can clearly hear the agonized way her daughter cries into a pillow.

After she takes time to collect herself (she has to be strong now, for Katie), she goes up the stairs to confront her grieving child in her room, but the door's wide open and she's not in it-- Matt's door is closed and the light pours out from under the door's frame. Gently, she enters the room to see Katie curled up on her brother's bed, pillow clutched to her body as she cries into it, and it takes all Colleen has to not immediately start to cry all over again. Once she makes herself known and Katie whips her head up to look at her mother, her heart continues to break. The poor girl's eyes were puffy and swollen, her face blotchy and breaths coming in short, pained bursts, and Colleen feels awful for every time she told Katie to let go of Matt.

"He-- he can't be gone, not.... not really, right, mom?"

* * *

 

Within the next few days the Galaxy Garrison organizes a funeral for the three astronauts, and the black dress looks so strange on Katie that it physically startles her to see her daughter in such somber clothes. Her hand is still so small as she grips Colleen's own sweating palm, every finger shaking as the empty graves are marked with simple slabs of granite. They hand Colleen a placard with Sam's name on it, with his rank and age and years of service, and it takes everything she has not to fall to the ground with the agony and profound loss she feels.

Katie is handed Matt's and-- she's not strong enough to resist succumbing to the grief of it, as if the wood-mounted piece of metal was a burden that would bury her with its weight alone. Her daughter's cries entice sympathy glances from the other present members of the Garrison, of family friends and distant relatives, and all Colleen can do is help Katie to her feet and pull her into a hug so tight that it would break a weaker person. The night is long, filled with condolences both sincere and obligatory; by the time her house is clear save for herself and Katie, the sun had long set. Sam's plaque now hung in the hallway, along with the other accomplishments that he'd made in his life. Colleen's eyes are too dry to cry.

Her daughter is right back in Matt's room (guilt claws up Colleen's throat), door ajar and body curled up around that same pillow on his bed. Colleen sits at the edge of it, rubs her back and pets her hair, and tells her that they'd make it through this together. That they still had each other, and no matter what, Colleen would do her best to make her remaining child happy. But Katie is shaking her head, denial in her tone still about the state of Matt's life, and clings to her pencil skirt and messes it with snot and tears. But she can bear it. She has to.

"He'd never leave me! He _promised_!"

* * *

 

As if things couldn't get worse, a month after the tremendous loss of life in her family, Katie goes missing. All she finds is a sink full of hair, a pair of scissors, and a note telling her that she sent to find out ' _the truth_ '. The room feels like it's spinning-- she reaches out to clasp the counter-top with her hands, her lungs tight, her heart tighter. She can't.... she can't lose her too, not Katie. Colleen didn't know if she'd be able to handle this home being empty, just her and the dog to fill the lonely space. He's sitting at the entry to the bathroom, head cocked and tail wagging, oblivious, calm-- everything Colleen couldn't be right now.

Slipping to the floor, clutching a hastily written note on the back of notebook paper, she cries fresh tears for a now runaway daughter. Somewhere along the line she had to have messed up if she didn't notice how her daughter acted now; her daughter's rash and radical decisions seemingly coming from nowhere. Baebae sidles up to her, resting his heavy head on her lap and whimpering, sensing her distress; she looks over the note once, twice, three more times before she lets her head fall back against the wall.

"I'm sorry, mom. I just _know_ Matt and Dad aren't dead."

* * *

 

Two years after this, Sam makes a miraculous return to Earth. Her heart is pumping as Admiral Sanda briefs her and leads her down hall after clinical winding hall before she's even allowed to see her husband again. It's painful, the waiting, and when those doors open, she's not sure what will greet her from the other side.

Its like seeing a ghost.

For so long she'd accepted that Sam was long gone, dead and floating in space, perpetually stuck in whatever way he died; from starvation, maybe? Dehydration? Colleen had thought about it on long, lonely nights, but now he was here and alive and healthy-- She flung her arms around him with enough force that he stumbled back, his arms gripping to her shoulders like he never thought he'd see her again.

So many things happen in such a short time-- or, it feels short. Learning about alien life, of how Sam returned to them. The threats they'll be facing and the lives they could lose. Contacting her children had been promised but _impossible_ thus far, and when they do finally get in contact with Matt, it's bittersweet. He tells them that Voltron's been missing for years, that her daughter was fighting a war on her own with them and is likely dead. There's a twinge in her son's voice when he says this, like the thought alone _pains_ him, and Sam grips her shoulders and says something she can't make out over the rush in her ears. Matt tells them not to contact him again, to cut off the broadcast-- he'll be in touch when it's safe.

"I'm sorry. I love you."

* * *

 

Six years.

That's how much time passes before she can see her daughter again, before she can hold her in her arms and cry and admonish her for leaving. But along with a halfhearted apology, she asks for Matt, if he came home already to help. Sam shakes his head and grips her shoulder tight, and Katie's lip wobbles like her whole world is ending all over again. He's alive, both of them assure their daughter. They'd heard from him those years ago, so he's alive and well as far as they know. Katie stuffs her face into her mother's chest and cries again, reaches to pet Baebae (who'd pushed his way between the women's legs) and weeps.

There's not much time for that, though, and the crying stops not long after it started; she looks proudly up at her family and makes bold promises that Colleen isn't sure someone as young as her can keep. And yet Sam looks proud, claps her on the back and pulls her aside to start talking strategy. They have to plan their next moves, figure out how to stop Sendak, clinging to scraps of hope that the members of Voltron can provide for them.

"I'll make it safe for him to come home to me, don't worry."

* * *

 

When the dust settled, and they pulled Katie out of her Lion, all they could do was wait as the medical staff worked to heal her up. It's weeks before she's stable (before any of the paladins are, really), and weeks yet until she's awake for more than moments at a time. Every day feels like it's the last for her daughter's life, but she pulls through just like the rest of her friends, and they share a teary thank-you with their only daughter, defender of the galaxy and one of several of Earth's saviors.

It's not too long after this before her son makes a return.

Her son had come to Earth, endless ships filled to the _brim_ with refugees pouring out into the Garrison. The fight was over just for now; it was all she could hope for. Matt comes out of a ship clutching the hand of some alien, drags her along to greet Sam and Colleen, hugs them both to his chest and tells them how much he missed them. If Colleen thought her daughter's hair had been cut to look like Matt's, her son was no better; his hair had lengthened considerably, sharing a resemblance to the usual cut her daughter had sported up until her disappearance. After telling them he's sorry he couldn't come home, the next thing that passes his lips is a question about Katie.

Colleen comes to the realization that he's thought her _dead_ for the last four years.

They visit her in the medbay, where she's just starting to stir from much-needed slumber, but its like she hadn't needed it at all the moment Katie lays her eyes on Matt. She leans against him when he hugs her from the side, and Colleen had expected something... grander, perhaps-- even dramatic from Matt, but it was just a simple side hug. There was a kind of restraint in the movements he made, in the way that he rubbed her shoulder. Sam didn't seem to notice it, but Colleen caught it in her mind's eye. It makes that same suspicion rise up in her like it had years ago (worlds ago, when they were whole), making her furrow her brows just slightly.

"It's good to be home."

* * *

 

Colleen had only come back for a moment, to get her cardigan out of Katie's room when she heard them speaking.

"That's _some nerve_ you have, bringing your _girlfriend_ into my room." This was whispered with a tone of hurt so unlike Katie that Colleen paused, door partially slid open.

"She won't be that for long." Her son, cooing and assuring Katie of something ridiculous-- he was a full grown man, now. He doesn't need to soothe his sister's childish jealousy.

"You'll break up with her, then?" Her daughter's voice. It sounds watery, like she's just barely holding back tears. Colleen peeks through where the door was ajar, watching her children curiously.

"Of _course_." Matt replies easily; he's half-kneeling on Katie's hospital bed, leaning over her and kissing her forehead. His voice is low, deeper than she remembers. "I've only ever had eyes for _you_ , you know. I just.... thought I'd never see you again. That I had to move on."

"Idiot." There was no real heat behind it, just a relived sort of chuckle.

Matt smiles that million-watt grin, the one he'd given Katie when she was hardly a few hours old and so many times since then. Like she was the whole world to him; like she was the center of his universe. " _My Kaite_ ,"

Maybe she _was_.

A beat passed, two, before she watched Katie reach her arms up to tug her brother down by the neck, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Still slightly chaste, but definitely not appropriate for people their age. But Matt melted into it, chased her pseudo-innocent kiss with one of his own, and Colleen's stomach twists and sinks right through the floor.

It was _desperate_ , the way Matt clawed at Katie's back, like a man starved of skin and love, and she could just barely hear the excited trill that bubbled up from her daughter's lips when he pressed too-intimate kisses to her jaw, trailing down her neck. Colleen... she should stop this. Stop them from making some sort of mistake, from perverting every pure and innocent thing between them. But she doesn't know if they would even listen (if things had ever been pure between them) -- Katie's tugging him down onto the bed and he's following like this was something he'd done countless times before. As if this act itself was ritual enough that he'd never forget the motions, like riding a bike. Colleen feels rather sick, as if any moment bile would rise up her esophagus and choke her with the bitter, sour taste of it.

The moment Katie makes this strangled sort of noise (moaning, she was _moaning_ ), Colleen glances down to see Matt's hand up the edge of her hospital gown, moving in circular motions while her daughter's hips gyrate, and she almost does vomit. Colleen takes a step back, then another, until her shoulders bump the opposite wall of the hallway. She'd always suspected, but never-- she didn't think they'd actually have this sort of... _incestuous_ bond. This train wreck of a scene plays out in front of her, a perfect view through the slot of open door, where she just can't pry her eyes away from the depravity her children display.

Colleen wishes she could say it was space that changed them, but she remembers the way Katie would cling to Matt, how they'd snuggle even long after it was appropriate; of all the late night creaking of floorboards from Matt's room when Katie had nightmares. Colleen presses her palm to her lips, stifles the sick feeling that rises in her throat. All this time, had they been this _intimate_? And out in the cold of space too, were they like _this_ , where nobody could judge them because they were just as anonymous as every other alien out there? Her focus is snapped back to her blasphemous children by the low, guttural groan Matt makes as his hips connects with Katie's; his lips quickly snatched up by his sister's mouth. They break for breath; Katie moans loudly enough that Colleen herself is worried someone other than her might hear it, and Matt moans into her ear.

"Katie, _I love you_."


End file.
